Three Tears from the Sun
by The Phantom Queen
Summary: He was supposed to be training with a legendary Sannin. Instead, a night of festivities gone too far lead to unexpected consequences that leave Naruto changed, and Jiraiya wondering if he can ever face his student or Tsunade again. Rape, possible mpreg.


**Three Tears from the Sun**

Notes: Written when I can't get any sleep. As a result of this, it is something that I don't look at during my normal waking hours because the plot burns my eyes. This might contain future mpreg, by the way – which I've managed to never read before, so maybe this has already been done (dear deities save us) and if so, there definitely needs to be more sleeping pills in the world.

Warning: Very strange. Mentions (nothing graphic) of NCS. Possible OOCness, because the situation isn't exactly normal. Might contain future mpreg (pairings still unsure). Jiraiya/Naruto will _not_ be a pairing of any sort.

Updates: Sporadic. See above note about sleep.

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**Chapter One**

It was a widely-known fact that Jiraiya – the Frog Hermit, student to the third Hokage of Konoha, sensei to its fourth, and former team mate to its fifth – liked to drink. He also liked women, and writing, and writing about drinking and women. Many others also appreciated his hobbies. Most of them were not female.

Some of them weren't male, either.

Some were boys.

Boys with inexplicable techniques to turn themselves _into_ females, so that they didn't appreciate the hermit's activities either way.

There is a boy in particular, of course, because speaking in a generic sense throughout an entire fiction would quite quickly become dull. It is for this reason that we reveal the name of said boy, and just why his dislike for the man he had dubbed 'ero-sennin' grew tenfold after a certain night.

His name was Uzumaki Naruto. Age fourteen at this time, thus making the events that unfolded even more shocking and horrifying to some. You have been warned.

The morning that followed the certain night dawned far too bright and early for anyone's opinion, and specifically a sensei and his student. The sensei being Jiraiya, of course, lay sprawled out on his partly-unrolled futon, the other half still crumpled and coiled and making a rather uncomfortable pillow for his broad shoulders as his head lay tilted to the side, sake rather than drool seeping from his mouth. Light shone in through the curtains, and dark eyes squinted, flickered open, then squeezed shut as pain assaulted him. Jiraiya _groaned_ in utter _agony_. Last night's activities were catching up with him quite vehemently now, and he blinked open his eyes once more to see the scattered liquor bottles still on the floor… and he wasn't even sure if he was seeing triple or not. Those weren't even the ones from the _bar._ Bars? He turned his head to the other side – another groan – and froze.

Lying curled up just a few feet away, on another rolled futon with crumpled sheets and dark red stains – _stains of what? Stains of **what?**_ – lay a small body. His perverted nature, of course, took in the smooth, soft curves of a young woman's amply endowed form, and it wasn't until after his wine-fogged brain had hazily absorbed those facts that it idled over the dark bruises marring the smooth skin. Rolling onto his side, he felt another small stab of pain and looked down – yet more pain shot up through his head, and he clutched it with both hands and groaned again – and saw scratches on his chest, in rows of five, as if from human hands…

The pain in his head was still there, but rapidly fading as the enormity of the situation began to dawn on him, and his gaze went back to the young woman and down her body turned away from him… and to the stains of blood and wine on the pallet beneath her.

Her small figure stirred slightly, a soft sigh escaping what he assumed were luscious pink lips, seeing as she was facing away from him. Then he saw as her muscles tensed slightly and there was a small squeak of pain and confusion, and something tugged in his chest because she was turning over and he knew what he was going to see and didn't want to and hoped to Kami that it was just the after-effects of the drink…

Three whiskers on one silky cheek came into view, and Jiraiya wanted to close his eyes but couldn't. They met bright blue. Then they broke.

Strangely enough, it was the man that was crying, and the child that stared with blank eyes.

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He'd allowed the jutsu to simply melt away, rather than forcing himself back into his natural form. Either way, he had hurt too much to care.

Jiraiya had barely managed to mutter that he had to be in shock, before he'd also fallen silent and stayed on the window seat, looking firmly out the glass pane, refusing to move or look in the direction of his student.

The student that he'd…

Neither were willing to finish that thought. He'd obviously been much, much more drunk than he'd thought he was. But wasn't that always the way? When your perception was inhibited to the point where you don't realize that the young woman fighting in your arms wasn't just playing, that she wasn't _even_ a woman because you had pulled rank and ordered your student to use that stupid technique with the threat of never training him again…

Oh, yes. Oh so classic. It happened to everyone.

"I'm going out."

Jiraiya rose, walked quietly across the room as no answer came – he didn't expect one from the child sitting on the now-rolled up futon that needed to be burned, not washed, because even if the stains came out he'd always see them there – and slid open the rice-paper door, exiting without looking back.

Slowly, the tousled golden head rose. The boy wanted to go sit in the seat that had just been vacated, but because of who had vacated it, he didn't think he could. He didn't think he could ever touch his teacher, or even anything in association with his teacher, ever again.

Those were weak thoughts, a part of his mind told him, but he didn't care. Right now he wanted to indulge in his pain, because it was too different and it hurt too much in comparison to anything he'd ever experienced before. He found that he _couldn't_ ignore it.

How could he…?

It wasn't like he hadn't been harassed before, or anything. He was the nine-tails, it was practically written that all drunk Konoha citizens who saw him on their way stumbling home had to either throw their empty bottles or try to trap him in an alley where they told him to do… _things. _But he'd always been fast before, and they would pass out and forget anyways. He didn't hold it against them. All grown-ups were perverts, except for Iruka-sensei. The teacher was probably more innocent than _he_ was, Naruto thought.

Or used to be.

Slowly the boy drew his knees up to his now-flat chest, vacant blue eyes still looking towards the window across the room. There was a crease on the cushion from where the old hermit had sat. Was he being dumb for not wanting to touch that? He'd been dumb last night.

_Naruto grimaced, the taste of the sake still strong in his mouth despite the measly few sips he'd taken from him sensei's abandoned cup. Ero-sennin had decided that the motion of pouring and transferring containers had been far too taxing, and just gone straight for the bottle after a mere minute in the rented room. The inn was rather quiet tonight; everyone was still out at the festivities, which the genin had surprisingly managed to drag his completely trashed sensei from. Usually Jiraiya put up more of a fuss, but he hadn't seemed to notice as he was pulled through the crowds, still laughing and groping at various short skirts._

"_Ne, Naruto…" the man slurred. "Where did all the ladies go? I need to—need to…" He stumbled to his feet and squinted. "Do that cute thing you do."_

_The boy ignored him, running his tongue over his teeth. They felt fuzzy, or maybe it was his tongue that felt heavy. Stupid sake._

"_Do it or I won't train you ever again!" Jiraiya glared at him… or rather kept on squinting fiercer so that his eyes were mere slits and the drunken flush in his cheeks and slur in his voice were really all that one paid attention to. The genin rolled his eyes and, with a long-suffering sigh, eyed his teacher. Perhaps the combination of the drink and a nosebleed would finally make the man pass out, and then Naruto could get some sleep. He wanted to train tomorrow, and Jiraiya wouldn't keep his drunken threats anyways; he'd more than likely completely forget them. Standing up, he brought his hands together to make the seal. With a _poof! _he felt his body change and smoke erupted around him, slowly dissipating to reveal his now-feminine form. He reached out his arms, expecting Jiraiya to go limp in them moments later._

"_Haa, you're so cute!" The pervert swayed on his feet, stumbling forward. Naruto rolled his eyes again, then batted his lashes for good measure as the heavy body descended… but for some reason, he didn't feel like the normal dead-weight. He looked up, and Jiraiya's eyes had lost their haze as calloused hands wet with liquor touched his bare hips, and gripped a little too hard. Blue eyes narrowed in confusion, and he hesitated._

"_Ero-sennin?"_

"_You're very pretty." The hands didn't seem to know their own strength, and one crept higher towards his decidedly female chest. His movements were very sure compared to a minute ago, but his cheeks were still dark red. Naruto put his hands up, fingers slightly crooked as they made contact with a broad chest when the man moved closer._

"_What're you doing?" _

"_Shh…" The other hand moved lower. Naruto felt a stirring in his stomach that wasn't desire – he couldn't connect that word and his teacher in relation to himself – and his nails sharpened slightly._

"_Stop it." He pushed himself away and the arms around him tightened. "Pervert!" His nails dug in and he clawed downward, suddenly angry but not afraid; he was Uzumaki Naruto and he was never afraid… _

_Pain._

Pain.

His palms stung. Naruto looked down in some confusion. His hands, balled into fists, trembled on his knees. Forcing them to uncurl, he stared at the five bleeding little marks in each one. Thin rivulets of red trickled over the curve of his palm, traveling along his life lines.

He watched as the blood slowly dried.

The marks closed up, flesh knitting back together. Just little scratches. The pain went away.

But an ache remained, and he didn't think it was from his hands.

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There were still balloons and paper lanterns, and litter on the streets from last night's festivities. Some street vendors were still set up at the corners, the remains of their goods peppered sparsely on each cart. The village had a contented and pleasant atmosphere to it; they had had their fun, they'd sleep in, and life would be back to normal.

He walked slowly into a bar, settling at the counter. The bartender looked at him sideways with red eyes, obviously wondering why this old man was here instead of sleeping off the drink at home. But instead Jiraiya lifted one hand weakly, and with a shrug the other set a small bottle and cup before him.

The hermit looked down into the small glass, unmoving. This was what he usually did, wasn't it? Something happened and he'd go and drink it away, and when he came back it would be gone. Denial, Tsunade called it, but wasn't she a hypocrite.

Kami, Tsunade… What would she say when she found out what he'd… to the boy that she saw her brother in, that she looked at like her own…

Jiraiya put his face into his gloved hands, and for the very first time in many years, he allowed himself to weep.

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… 

A/N: You know, this could even just be a one-shot…


End file.
